


Summer Wind

by LathboraViran



Series: We Can Make This Last [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Real World, Brief reference to an eating disorder, Fluff and Angst, Honnleath is a town in Wisconsin, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, There are cheese curds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-26 23:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LathboraViran/pseuds/LathboraViran
Summary: Cullen and Dorian grew up in the small town of Honnleath, Wisconsin. They were best friends as kids, all the way through high school and the first year of college. And then everything went to hell. Dorian hasn't been home since. Six years later, the only childhood friend Dorian's still in touch with is getting married, and he needs someplace to stay while he's in town for the wedding.





	Summer Wind

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely inspired by Steve Grand's song "Stay."
> 
> There is some discussion of homophobic things that Dorian's friends and family have said and done to him in the past. Nothing "on-screen" as it were. There is also a very brief reference to Dorian having suffered from an eating disorder, which he has recovered from fairly well. (I did not actually intend for that to be part of Dorian's backstory in this fic, but it just sort of appeared on the page and seemed to fit, so I left it.)

Dorian was not at all excited about going back to Honnleath. He was excited for Leliana, but he wished she’d chosen to hold her wedding literally anywhere else. Alaska. Antarctica. The moon. Just not Honnleath.

Growing up in small town Wisconsin was great, Dorian supposed, if you were a straight boy who liked sports. Or if you were a cow. Nerdy little boys who liked books and makeup and other boys? Didn’t have such a great time.

And he would probably run into his parents, and wouldn’t that be a shitshow. It had been bad enough that he’d had the audacity to study literature instead of medicine. When he finally came out to them, after a year away at college, they cut him out of the family. Stopped helping him pay for his schooling, wouldn’t let him crash at home over breaks, the whole nine yards.

He hadn’t spoken to them since.

And then there was Cullen Rutherford. His childhood best friend. His high school crush. And then he’d ruined things when he’d stayed with Cullen over a break sophomore year of college.

So he wasn’t sure where he was going to stay in Honnleath. Definitely not with his parents. Part of him wanted to finally call Cullen, see if he could stay with him, but he was terrified that Cullen wouldn’t want to see him at all. He didn’t want to find out. The only other person he’d been close enough to was Leliana, and she’d be otherwise occupied.

He finally settled on calling the Spinning Wheel Inn. There were only two hotels in Honnleath, and the nice one was certainly beyond his means. The Spinning Wheel was a dump, but it wouldn’t eat into his rent. Just another month… or two… where he didn’t actually contribute anything to that hypothetical emergency fund that never materialized. (One of these days, the shitbox car he drove when he needed to leave the city would finally give up the ghost, and then he’d just be stranded in Chicago for all eternity, because he’d never have the money to repair or replace it.)

He dialed, and the phone only rang once before it was picked up.

“Spinning Wheel Inn, this is Cullen speaking. How can I help you?”

Dorian dropped his phone. _Fuck_. If there was a god, he had a sick sense of humor.

He picked his phone up from where it had fallen on his desk. “I’m sorry, just a bit of trouble with my phone. Are you still there?”

_“Dorian_ _?"_

“Um. Yes. I… I didn’t realize you were working at the Spinning Wheel now.”

“Well, normally I work on the restaurant side, but the front desk person called out sick today and I got roped in. You must be coming to town for Leliana’s wedding?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“If you’re looking to stay here, I assume you’re still on the outs with your parents?” If anyone but Cullen had asked that way, he’d have been angry. But this was Cullen, and it felt like picking up where they’d left off. Better. It felt like picking up before the Sophomore Snafu.

“To put it lightly. And there’s not really anyone up there I’m still in touch with except Leliana.”

“You should stay with me! We could get caught up.” The eagerness in Cullen’s voice was disarming, but Dorian had a lot defenses to disarm.

“It… wouldn’t be awkward?” No, that felt too personal. “I mean, it wouldn’t be an imposition?”

“Definitely not an imposition. Awkward… well, you have met me. I can make no promises about awkward.”

“Cullen -"

“Look, if it’s about sophomore year, I…” Cullen trailed off and Dorian had no idea how to fill the silence without making it worse. “I’d like to talk with you about it. In person,” Cullen finished.

“Oh,” was all Dorian could manage.

“So will you stay with me?”

He really couldn’t afford a hotel room, even the Spinning Wheel, if he could reasonably avoid it.

“Yes. Yes, I’ll stay with you.”

“Good. Had you already decided what day you want to come up?”

“I figured I’d drive up Thursday and head home Sunday.”

“That’s a pretty short stay.”

“I couldn’t really get more than two days off work.”

“Where are you working?”

“KIrkwall Books. I’m a proofreader. Bottom of the hierarchy, first to get axed when sales are crunched. And, well, it doesn’t take a nerd to notice that book sales are always crunched lately.”

“You always did want to work in publishing. Are you enjoying the work at least?”

“Proofreading isn’t exactly my dream job, but at least I’m in the industry. I’m holding out hope I can work my way up to editor.”

“Well, at least you’re on the right track,” Cullen said.

“So you’re working in the restaurant there mostly?”

“Yeah, I’m a cook - Sorry, I’m gonna have to cut this short. I’ve got a customer at the desk now. Do you still have my cell number? I haven’t changed it.”

“Yes, you’re still in my contacts.”

“Then call me later and we’ll work out the details, ‘kay? And maybe catch up. It’s good to hear your voice.”

Dorian was feeling a little choked up but he was pretty sure it wasn’t audible in his voice. “It’s good to talk with you too. I’ll call soon. Bye now.”

Cullen didn’t even say good-bye, just hung up and presumably attended to his customer.

That - had gone really quite well. He must not have burned that bridge as badly as he thought if Cullen was willing to host him for a long weekend.

He just had to not fuck it up this time.

~~~

Dorian found himself staring at his closet and, for the first time in possibly years, not knowing what to wear. Or in this case, what to pack. He had a summer suit picked for the wedding itself, but nothing else.

He wanted to impress without looking like he was trying to impress. Well, that’s what he wanted in his outfit on any given Thursday. It shouldn’t be this hard.

Except he was trying to impress Cullen, for the first time in six years. Why did he even care if he impressed Cullen? They’d known each other longer than they’d known their own names, for crying out loud. Their mothers had been best friends, and since Dorian’s mother was a full-time homemaker (as she put it) at the time, she had babysat the Rutherford kids until they were old enough to not need sitting anymore. Cullen had known Dorian in his steal-their-sisters’-dresses phase, and his pirate-costume-daily phase, and his emo phase, and his punk phase. He had seen all the bad outfits, the bleached hair, the glitter eye shadow. Everything in his closet was impressive by those standards.

It had been six years. It might as well be a first impression, for how little they knew of each other’s lives now. And he hadn’t been willing to articulate it to himself until now, but he desperately wanted to impress Cullen, to put their friendship back together. He missed Cullen.

Easy part first, he thought. Jeans. Chino shorts. Too dressy for a summer weekend in Honnleath, but he didn’t _own_ jean shorts. He had _standards_.

He finally just started throwing shirts on the bed until there were enough decent candidates, and then he didn’t really whittle it down to three days. Half of it would layer anyway. There was a chambray, a couple of linen button-downs, the white t-shirt that he’d cancelled two months of Netflix to have tailored properly. He only owned two tanks; he brought them both.

He had nothing suitable for evening layers. A blazer or cardigan would look ridiculous at a campfire, and he didn’t do hoodies. He’d wind up borrowing something from Cullen in the evenings. He was surprised to feel a little flutter in his stomach at the thought. He had a sudden memory of stealing one of Cullen’s flannels when they were teenagers and he’d already developed a terrible crush on Cullen. He remembered the smell of Cullen wrapped around him, as warm and cozy as the campfire they were sitting next to.

He hadn’t thought of that evening in a long time, didn’t even realize he still had that memory. Didn’t realize the thought of it could still make his heart race.

This trip was going to be an awkward mess at best and an outright disaster at worst.

~~~

Cullen had built a house on a tract of his parents’ land that wasn’t actively being farmed. Dorian thought this was terribly quaint and antiquated. It was also such a Cullen thing to do. He hadn’t asked how much of the building Cullen had done with his own hands, but he imagined he’d done a lot of it. Probably hired out the electric and did the rest himself.

Dorian still remembered the way out to the Rutherford farm well enough to drive it half-drunk or half-asleep. Not that either of those conditions had been tested in their youth. There were anxious flutters in his stomach as he turned onto Oak Street. Another mile, almost exactly, to the farmhouse. Cullen had said his house was just a little farther down the same road.

As he passed the farmhouse, he was struck by a flashbulb memory of their ten-year-old selves climbing the maple trees out front and mooning the road. There hadn’t been any cars passing, of course, because this was far enough out of town that no one came this way unless they lived out here. But they’d done it anyway, laughing all the while. Dorian had nearly fallen out of the tree from laughing so hard. It was ridiculous, that this would be the memory that would come to mind at a time like this. Utterly insignificant, just another silly thing boys did, memorable only because they’d found it so hysterically funny at the time.

By the time he was done berating himself, he’d passed the little stand of trees that hid Cullen’s house from the road. It was more of a cottage really, a squat square thing, just one story. Its siding was pale blue, and the front was nearly all windows. Of course Cullen would have built a sunporch. A short gravel driveway led up to an attached two-stall garage.

And by the time he’d brought the car to a stop in the driveway, Cullen was stepping out the front door and hurrying to meet him, smiling like the world had just been put to rights. He wore cargo shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, and somehow made it look like fashion. Dorian tore his eyes away long enough to get out of his rust bucket and shut the door.

“Dorian!” said Cullen, and wrapped him in an embrace. It was the kind of hug Cullen would have given a teammate after they won Homecoming, celebratory, friendly, explicitly platonic. And then it went on. And on. Dorian felt warm in a way that couldn’t be attributed to the summer sun or the mere animal body heat of a hug. His heart was beating too fast and the flutters in his stomach were in full force. _Shit. I thought I was over you._

When Cullen finally let him go, there was the briefest moment when Dorian could see the last of a blush fading from Cullen’s cheeks. It startled him, because usually the blush meant Cullen was talking to - or thinking about - someone he liked. Was _romantically attracted to._ And surely…

“Look at you! You were still all gangly in college. Adulthood suits you,” Cullen said, and promptly turned bright red.

“And you’re every bit as handsome as you always were. Aren’t football players supposed to get tubby?”

“Give it time. Can I take your bags?”

“I’ve only got the one. And a host gift. I hope you still like a good whiskey,” Dorian said as he opened the back door and pulled the bottle from where it had been wedged between his suitcase and the seat. He presented the bottle with flair.

“You shouldn’t’ve… That’s a $60 bottle of whiskey!”

“Which is still less than one night at the Spinning Wheel would have cost.”

“Barely,” Cullen said, finally taking the bottle from Dorian. Dorian pulled his suitcase from the car and shut the door.

It was a short walk up the driveway to the front door, where they were assaulted by a very large German shepherd, which tried to put its very large paws on Dorian’s shoulders.

“ _Down_ , pup!” The dog listened to Cullen immediately, dropping almost to a laying down position, except that its hindquarters were still in the air, tail wagging a mile a minute.

“Good girl. If you’re polite to Dorian, he might give you treats later.” Cullen turned to Dorian. “This is Belle. We’re still working on door manners. She’s only a year old.”

“Bell? Like ringing a bell?”

“No, with an _e_ at the end. Cuz she’s a beauty and she’s stuck living with a beast.”

Belle was back on her feet and set about normal doggy introductions: sniffing butts. “Hm. You sure that’s not the other way around?”

Cullen laughed and blushed again. “Let me give you a quick tour of the house. There’s not much of it.”

It was exactly the sort of quaint, homey place that Dorian had pictured when Cullen had mentioned he’d built a house. The furnishings were all hand-me-downs and garage sale finds, except for a bookshelf that Dorian recognized as something Cullen had built in high school wood shop. The sunporch led into a narrow living room, with two bedrooms on the right side, the first a guest room. They deposited Dorian’s suitcase there and went on into the kitchen.

The kitchen was larger than the living room and bedrooms put together, sun streaming in from three sides. The fridge looked like it was salvaged from someone’s basement, but everything else was gleaming: stainless steel double sink, cupboards of real wood - not laminate -  painted white, and a shiny new range that Dorian suspected of housing a convection oven.

“You’ve really fallen in love with cooking, haven’t you?”

Cullen grinned sheepishly. “Maybe a little.”

“This kitchen must be worth the rest of the house put together.”

“The range cost me more than all the furniture in here.”

“No wonder you were so eager to have me stay over. Your kitchen deserves to have more than one person to feed.”

“That… had not actually crossed my mind. I have folks from church over pretty often. And from the ‘big house.’” Cullen said the last two words like they were a running joke.

Dorian had wandered over to the table under the western window. It and its four matching chairs were made of lovingly worked wood, not carved but beveled. It was beyond Cullen’s skill in high school, but it nonetheless reminded Dorian of the bookshelf in the other room. “Did you make this?”

“I, ah, had some time on my hands after the injury. There wasn’t much work in town, and I couldn’t do much in the fields with my leg acting up. But I could do a lot in the shop if I sat on a stool for most of it. I got good enough to make something better than I could afford to buy, so I did.”

“It’s beautiful,” Dorian said. He almost felt a little jealous. He’d never been good with his hands. He wasn’t sure he had this much skill with anything. Certainly nothing that could be seen and touched and used to make some everyday activity beautiful.

They finished up the tour. Off the kitchen was a bathroom and a staircase leading to an unfinished basement. Belle stood at the top of the stairs and whined as Dorian and Cullen descended.

“She doesn’t like the stairs,” Cullen explained. “Eventually, I want to build an office and another bedroom down here. And maybe wall off the laundry room.” Cullen gestured to the washer and dryer in one corner.

Belle did her best to knock them back down the stairs with her exuberance when they emerged from the basement. Cullen continued unphased.  “So, tour done and it’s barely 3:00. We should figure out what to do with the rest of the day. Do you want to eat supper at Chicago time or Honnleath time?”

“‘Supper,’” Dorian mused, “Yup, I must be in rural Wisconsin.”

“Can’t say ‘dinner’ around here. Grandma still thinks ‘dinner’ means ‘lunch,’” Cullen grinned.

“When do you usually eat dinner? Or ‘supper’?” Dorian asked.

“Honnleath time, about 5:30. I usually have the early shift at the Spinning Wheel.”

“That works for me. I barely ate lunch.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide. “I had hoped you were doing better with that.”

Oh. Right. When he’d last seen Cullen, he’d barely begun recovering from the eating disorder. “No, it’s not that. I’m pretty well recovered. Just didn’t want to stop for lunch, and there’s not much in the way of healthy food that’s easy to eat in the car. Still can’t stomach a McDonald’s burger. I had some pretzels and veggie straws; I’ll be okay.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better with that,” Cullen said and paused. “Veggie straws? My childhood best friend is a yuppie!”

“I did move to Chicago.”

“Wait, you’re not vegetarian or anything, are you? I had steaks planned, but there’s still time to do something different.”

“No, that’ll be fine. I still eat meat.” Sometimes.

“Good, you’re in for a treat tonight.”

“Given your kitchen, I have no doubt that everything I eat this weekend will be delectable.”

A wistful look - maybe nostalgia - crossed Cullen’s face at that, but he didn’t explain it. Instead, he said, “Whaddaya say we crack open that bottle of whiskey? I think it’ll pair with cheese curds. They were still warm when I picked them up this morning.”

Fresh cheese curds. Dorian was definitely home.

~~~

Dorian had been worried it would be awkward, worried that conversation would flag and they’d be left with the uncomfortable silence of two people who really didn’t know each other anymore.

That wasn’t how it went at all.

They sat on the sunporch, breeze pouring in with the afternoon sun, Belle staring up at them hopefully, and lost track of time. There was a surprising amount to catch up on. Mia’s three kids, Branson getting engaged, Rosalie's college adventures, Mrs. Rutherford’s cancer three years ago - in remission thankfully. How Cullen wound up working at the Spinning Wheel and how surprised he was to find that he was happy there. Cullen's church choir and volunteer work with Habitat for Humanity. Dorian’s Master’s degree, his life in Chicago, his young professionals group.

“You don’t have much in your life outside work, do you?” Cullen asked, sounding concerned.

“I… I suppose not. Proofreading doesn’t pay well enough to enjoy the city properly.”

“Are you happy with your lifesty-” Cullen cut himself off. “Are you happy with your life revolving around your career so much?”

Dorian thought for a moment, swirling his near-empty whiskey glass. “No. I keep telling myself it’ll get better when I make editor.”

“Will it?”

“Another $10,000 a year and another 10 hours of unpaid overtime every week? I might actually have money in my bank account, but I still won’t have time to enjoy it. But if I love the work as much as I think I will, it might be worth it.”

Cullen didn’t reply for a long moment. “Shit, I should have put the potatoes in the oven by now. Let’s move this to the kitchen.”

They gathered up the whiskey, their empty glasses, and what was left of the cheese curds, and headed for the kitchen, Belle happily underfoot the whole way.

“Have a seat,” said Cullen, gesturing to the table.

“Can I help with anything?” Dorian asked instead.

“My kitchen, my rules,” said Cullen as he turned on the oven. “And the rule is no one helps in my kitchen unless it’s baking day.”

So Dorian sat down and asked about baking day as Cullen bustled around the kitchen, prepping a baking dish for potatoes, opening wine to rest, seasoning the steaks. Belle, surprisingly, laid in the corner, head on her paws, watching forlornly the whole time. Dorian thought it was rather impressive on the part of dog and dog trainer alike. He supposed it was another manifestation of Cullen’s kitchen, Cullen’s rules.

They kept up a lively conversation as Cullen cooked. Before long, Cullen was washing his hands and pouring two glasses of wine. He sat down across from Dorian. “Now we wait. Steaks’ll go in in about 15 minutes.”

“Better set a timer, or we’ll get caught up in conversation again and miss it.”

“I suppose you have a point,” said Cullen, and set a timer on his phone.

“I take it you’re not seeing anyone?” Dorian asked. Hopefully it sounded like the curious question of a childhood friend, and not anything else.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been on a date that Branson’s been making jokes about Belle being my four-legged furry girlfriend. There’s not really anyone in town I’m interested in.”

“There are people outside of Honnleath, you know.”

“Meeting people from other towns sounds like a lot of work.”

“There’s this thing called Tinder. Or is Honnleath still so stuck in the 20th century that you haven't heard of it?”

“Yes, Tinder. Great place to find someone you’d like to spend your life with.”

Dorian tsked. “Still such high expectations of dating.”

“I’m not the prude I was in high school, but I’m still not interested in one-night stands. And I’ve been given to understand that’s all Tinder is really about.”

“There must be a hundred halfway decent dating websites by now.”

“Are you seeing someone?” Cullen asked without missing a beat.

“At the moment, no.”

“Glass houses. Stones.”

“I’ve seen several people in the last few years. My house is not glass.”

“Do you have any pets?” Cullen asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

“No. I’d like to get a cat, but I really can’t afford it.”

Conversation grew comfortable again, and they continued chatting easily as Cullen put in the steaks and started sauteing mushrooms and onions. Such rich cooking-food smells sometimes made Dorian feel nauseous, but thankfully today seemed to be a good day on that front. He was enjoying the conversation and the wine and the breeze coming off the window behind him. He was absolutely not watching the way Cullen’s shoulders moved as he stirred the vegetables. He was absolutely not wishing that he had been around the last six years to see Cullen get so good at cooking and woodworking.

“Shit!” Cullen said as he poured the steak drippings into the mushroom pan. “One of these days I’ll remember to wear an apron when I make this. It always splatters.”

“You weren’t planning on wearing that at the dinner table? Your mother would be appalled,” Dorian said with an affected sniff in his voice.

Cullen laughed. “You’re absolutely right. Unfortunately for Mom, it’s my kitchen, my rules.” He stirred the mushrooms for a minute more. “I’ll just go change while the steaks rest.”

He came back in dark blue jeans, pulling a black polo over his head as he walked back into the kitchen. _Damn_ , thought Dorian. He still had the six pack. Was it any wonder he’d crushed on Cullen in high school?

Cullen served up a plate for each of them and topped off their wine glasses. They dug in. _Strange,_ Dorian thought, _that he didn’t say grace._

After a moment of silence, Dorian said, “This is exquisite. Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“A lot of it my mom taught me, actually. But I did take a couple culinary classes at the tech.”

“Your mom teach you how to pair wines too?”

“No, that I actually got from Dad. Apparently he learned about wine pairings in German class, of all things.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Don’t ask him what a spatlese is unless you want an hour lecture on German wines.”

“Did he actually learn any German in German class?”

“Sure, the names of wines!”

Dorian could hardly believe how easy their conversation was after so long. It had him lulled into a sense of ease and comfortableness that he hadn’t felt in years and years. And then there was a bit of steak juice on the corner of Cullen’s mouth and he reached across the table to clean it off with a finger. And by the time he’d taken his finger away from Cullen’s face he’d realized how intimate a gesture it was and he felt panic rise up. It was something they’d have done as kids, sure, but they weren’t kids anymore. He was about to apologize when he looked up to Cullen’s eyes and saw _desire_ in them. He had to be seeing things, seeing what he wanted instead of what was actually there.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” Cullen said quickly. “I... I’m glad you feel comfortable enough here to do something like that.” His voice was calm and casual, but Dorian was quite sure he wasn’t imagining the bright red Cullen’s face was turning.

They needed a change of subject. “So who that we grew up with is still living here in town?” Dorian asked.

Somehow, after a minute or two, their conversation grew relaxed again, as if nothing had happened to disrupt the old-friends-catching-up tone. There was dairy fudge for dessert, and then Belle got her dinner.

“I’ll clean up later. Why don’t we take this into the living room? Or did you want to go into town tonight?” Cullen said.

“And do what? Go bowling? Have drinks at the Blind Squirrel? Last I checked, that’s about it for options.”

“You’re not wrong. If we stay here, we can play some games, build a fire.”

“The perfect night in Honnleath.”

“So what do you want to play? Board games or video games?” Cullen said as they walked into the living room, Belle at their heels.

“I haven’t played a video game since college,” Dorian said wistfully.

“Let’s fix that. See if you still remember how to kick my ass at Mario Kart.”

“You know, you swear a lot more than you did in high school,” Dorian said, perching on the couch, across from an incongruously large and new-looking big screen TV.

“At some point I realized the Bible doesn’t say shit about the word shit,” Cullen said as he turned on the console and the TV and plopped down next to Dorian.

They played for a bit, but then Belle wanted their attention, and things descended into a disjointed conversation around playing with Belle. It took the better part of an hour to tucker the dog out, at which point she curled up in her bed, sighing contentedly.

“That is one happy dog,” Dorian said. “She’s lucky you’ve got as much energy as she does.”

“She’s a bit much even for me sometimes.”

They settled back on the couch, but didn’t start the game up again.

“Dorian… I didn’t mean to bring this up so soon, but I feel like it’ll hang over my head all weekend if we don’t talk about it.”

Shit. Dorian thought he knew where this was going, and he didn’t like it.

“You remember that day, Christmas break, sophomore year.”

This was going exactly where he thought it was. “The Sophomore Snafu.”

“You _named_ it,” Cullen half-asked.

“Yes, I remember it,” Dorian’s voice sounded too snappish once the words were out of his mouth. He said again, more gently, “I remember. What did you want to say about it?”

Cullen audibly took a deep breath. “Do you remember what I said to you after you kissed me?”

Dorian’s voice was completely flat. “‘I want this too, but I can’t. It’s against God’s plan for sex, and I can’t compromise my faith like that.’”

Dorian was staring at his hands, so he didn’t see Cullen’s expression. Didn’t matter, the horror was in his voice. “You remembered every word.”

“Heard it in my head every night for weeks.” Months. Still heard it sometimes. It was the reason he had never called Cullen again.

“God, Dorian, I am so sorry.” Cullen’s voice was so earnest - and the abuse of God’s name from those lips so startling - that Dorian looked up at him. Cullen was looking at the floor, hand on the back of his neck, and the corner of his eye was wet. His voice was low when he continued: “I wish I could take it all back.”

“Because it hurt me or because you don’t think that way anymore?”

“Both.”

“Oh,” said Dorian.

“When I look back… I can’t believe I said that to you, especially so soon after what your parents did. I thought I was putting it in the kindest way possible. But there’s no kind way to tell someone that they’re immoral for something that’s inherent to who they are. And what a fucking self-important way to say it, like I know what God’s plan for sex is and like it’s the same for every single human being who’s ever walked this earth, like God can’t have different plans for different people. I… I could give you 50 reasons why I don’t believe now what I did then, but that’s not really important. I just… I’m sorry for saying what I did then, and I’m sorry for never making things right.” Cullen’s voice had gotten louder again with his damned earnestness, but it dropped quiet again when he said, “I… Please forgive me.”

Dorian was not sure he had ever verbally forgiven someone. _It’s fine_ or _It’s no big deal_ , that’s what you said when someone apologized. But this wasn’t fine and it was a big deal, and Cullen needed to hear that he was forgiven because that _mattered_ for Cullen. So he said, “I forgive you,” and realized that it was true. And then he thought of all the blushing Cullen had done since he’d arrived that afternoon and said, quietly, “Do you want a second chance?”

Cullen finally looked at him. “What?” Dorian let him process for a moment, until Cullen whispered, “Yes.”

So Dorian took Cullen’s face in his hands and kissed him, as long as he could make a closed-mouth kiss last. And then he pulled away and said exactly what he had said six years ago: “I don’t want to just be friends anymore.”

There were tears rolling down Cullen’s face. “I don’t either. I want - I - oh - ”

Cullen kissed him, one arm around his waist, the other hand on his cheek, mouth open, artless and desperate and absolutely perfect. And then Cullen tipped him back until he was lying on the couch, lips locked all the way. The feeling of Cullen over him was sheer safety and warmth, and Dorian wished he could have it forever.

Cullen pulled his face away. “I love you.”

“It’s been six years,” Dorian protested.

“Doesn’t matter. I love you.” There were still new tears streaming down Cullen’s face.

“I think I love you too.”

Cullen kissed him again, tender and careful this time, gentler than Dorian had been kissed in years. It was overwhelming. He felt a tear slipping from his own eye. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, this was too much. He always got hurt when he got this close to someone. But he couldn’t feel anything but safe, surrounded by Cullen, the smell of him so familiar, his touch so careful.

And then Cullen’s hands were under his shirt, running up his sides, fingertips running over him searchingly, like Cullen was enjoying every millimeter of skin under his hands. Dorian heard himself whimper with desire under the touch.

How would he ever go home - home to Chicago - if this was what waited for him Honnleath?

Cullen pulled his mouth away, pulled Dorian’s shirt off, began kissing Dorian’s collarbone, moved down Dorian’s chest. It was something out of a daydream, but just too fast to savor properly, and then Cullen’s lips were on his stomach and still moving lower, almost to his waistband.

“Cullen.” He grabbed Cullen’s face, forced his chin up ‘til they were making eye contact. “Cullen, where is this going?”

“As far as you want.” Cullen’s voice was husky with lust and tears.

Dorian put his hand on Cullen’s chin and dragged him up to make eye contact. “It’s too fast for you. You were bitching about one-night stands an hour ago.”

“This wouldn’t be a one-night stand, would it?”

“Not one night, no, but I have to go back to Chicago.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. I love you. I miss you. I have wept over every missed opportunity with you, and I refuse to miss another.”

“You’re not going to regret it if we have sex?”

“No. I’ll regret it if we don’t on my account.”

“Okay,” Dorian said, and caught Cullen’s lips up in another kiss, and Cullen’s tongue flicked across his lip and into his mouth, against his tongue.

Cullen pulled away long enough to pull his own shirt off.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” said Dorian.

“Can I take you to bed?”

“Yes, _please_ yes.”

Dorian was nonetheless surprised by Cullen lifting him bodily off the couch. After a moment of shock, he wrapped his legs around Cullen’s waist, and then Cullen was whisking him off to the bedroom. Dorian was overwhelmed again with feelings of safety, protectedness, like nothing bad would ever happen to him with Cullen’s arms around him. He heard himself make a little sound, an honestly pathetic little whimper that he’d have been ashamed of with anyone else.

Then Cullen set him down on the bed and then there was bare skin and lips and teeth and _Cullen_ and warmth and absolute sanctuary.

~~~

Dorian woke around dawn to Cullen kissing his neck from behind, arm wrapped around him, chest against his back, and he was melting into a puddle of sunshine and happiness and it was _absurd_. Dorian did not fall apart like this, dammit.

Belle had apparently heard them stirring - fucking dog hearing - and then there was _dog_ on the bed, licking both of them indiscriminately, tail wagging and making her whole body quiver.

“Belle,” Cullen said. “Not the time.” Those were not words Belle understood, so she didn’t change her behavior. “Belle, down.”

Belle dropped to the floor but whined. Incessantly.

“Dori, I’ve got to take her out. You okay?”

Dorian’s heart raced at the shortened form of his name. No one had called him that in years, but it didn’t bother him from Cullen. who’d sometimes called him that when they were young. “Go ahead,” he said, and yet he felt _bereft_ when Cullen slipped out of bed and out of the room.

Despite it being way too goddamn early, Dorian crawled out of bed, found his pants, donned them, and followed Cullen out into the backyard.

The sun was a red crescent barely peering out over the horizon on their right. Cullen wrapped an arm around him, and they stood there in silence, watching Belle run wild. Birds were already calling, cardinals and a few others Dorian couldn’t name, but otherwise the morning was still, the air chill against his bare chest, though it was mitigated by Cullen’s warm arm around his waist. He leaned into the touch.

“Stay,” Cullen breathed, and Dorian looked at him. “Stay with me. At least another week.”

Dorian longed to say yes. “I can’t. If I actually use my PTO, I’ll never make editor.”

“Is that really what you want? I don’t want to pressure you, but it sounded like you had some hesitations.”

Dorian sighed. “I do… But it’s what I’ve wanted my whole life.” He paused. “Would you leave your job here?”

“For you? In a heartbeat.”

“Then come with me.”

“Oh,” said Cullen.

Dorian’s heart fell. He knew better than to get his hopes up like this. “See, you wouldn’t really.”

“It’s not the job. It’s Chicago. I lived there for two years, remember? In college. I can’t do big city life. I really can’t, even if I wish I could for you.”

There was a moment of silence, while Belle chomped ineffectually at a butterfly.

“Are we really talking about a future together? Isn’t that rather… hasty?” Dorian said.

“Hasty? I’ve known you since we were in diapers.”

“But not as…” Dorian trailed off. He and Cullen finished the sentence simultaneously. Dorian said “adults”; Cullen said “lovers.”

Cullen laughed. “That too.”

“Give me some time,” Dorian said. “I’ve spent years getting to this point, I don’t know what else I would want to do. Can we do the long-distance thing while I figure things out?”

“Of course. I’m here when you decide. And I’ll… let go if you need me to let go.”

“Would you move with me to Milwaukee?”

Cullen shook his head. “Still too big. I’d be willing to try Madison. I don’t think I’d like it, but I think I could manage.”

“I’d hate to take you away from this,” Dorian said, gesturing to the house.

Cullen finally turned to him, pressed a hand to his face. “I love you far more than this silly little house. I love you more than my _kitchen_.”

“I love you too,” Dorian said, and there were absolutely _not_ tears in his eyes.


End file.
